Stars in Different Skies
by Sorascastle
Summary: Recently unemployed and totally uninterested, Harry Potter's main concern is his strange recurring dream. Seeking help, he enlists the aid of the Sorting Hat. However, they may be too late, as things are about to get a whole lot stranger. Hp/Skyrim
1. Prologue: Moon and Star

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

_Hp/Skyrim crossover. Not entirely sure I can even write. R&R._

* * *

**Stars in Different Skies**

Prologue

_Moon and Star_

**¿**

She was Twilight Eternal, and Mother of the Rose. She was Prince of Dusk and Dawn, and Lord of Spaces In-between. She was Queen of the Night Sky… and she was Azura.

Change was coming, and she knew it. Nirn would soon rot, devoured by a great Serpent held in the arms of the dead. But change could only lead to more change. Others were coming. Her own kin, surely, would be the first, choosing their champions and playing their endless games.

She too had Chosen, though her Champion was far different from the rest.

A child favoured by Prophecy and Fate. A child favoured by her. The Serpent meant nothing in the scheme of things, just a tool to be used by the hands of a Goddess.

Things were to be put in motion, events that would come together in due time. A Grand Awakening for her Champion, the last vestiges of his self-made shackles would be torn away in Twilight.

It was the twenty-first of First Seed, and soon she would be drifting through the God-Head, her Champion awaiting her.

Moonshadow's colours shifted and blurred around her, as she watched the souls of her worshippers flitter in and out of view.

Oh yes. Change was coming.

And at its forefront, _she_ would stand.

* * *

_The actual story is in first person. The prologue is short, yes. Thanks for reading._


	2. Chapter Zero: Famous Last Words

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

_This is really only the intro, getting Harry to Skyrim basically, and providing some back story. Also, this is all completely unbeta'd, expect some typos.  
_

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Chapter Zero

_Famous Last Words_

**¿**

_So I set sail in a tear drop, and escaped beneath the door sill, _

'_Cause the smell of her perfume, echoes in my head still..._

**¿**

It all started with a recurring dream, which from my experience, was a worry in itself. It was the kind of dream that seemed to block out all others, consuming them in its oddity. If you've ever had recurring dreams, you might know what I mean; mine was like that, only, _more_.

I dreamt of silver towers, like luminous beacons in the night, shifting and changing. I dreamt of a mountain so tall it seemed to pierce the sky, dark clouds brooding at its peak. I dreamt of a woman, more beautiful than any I'd laid eyes on; she held the sun in one hand, and the moon in another. I dreamt of stars like glitter in an unfamiliar sky, twin moons beating to a nameless rhythm. I dreamt of dragons, rising from the earth, and speaking to me with words I could not hear.

I'd been having the dream for at least a month, each night progressively more vivid than the last.

At first I chalked it up to stress. I mean, things hadn't been going all that well for me, and what else could it be? All the significant dreams—the _visions_—I'd had before, were because of Voldemort, because of the Horcrux, and the link we'd shared. But Voldemort had been dead—actually dead, for over five years now; those days were in the past.

And yet… these dreams felt so _real_, like they were more real than my waking life.

An uncomfortable shiver danced down my spine, and I tried to shake out my sudden anxiety, rolling over on the plush mattress I was sprawled across.

Sunlight was streaming through the blinds, the first break of snow in weeks, and it created a mottled effect over my blankets. I sat up, grabbing the Elder Wand from under my pillow, and waved it in the general direction of the kitchen. My apartment was pretty small, but I made up for it with copious amounts of Transfiguration and Space Expanding charms.

To be honest, life hadn't gotten much easier after killing the Dark Lord. It wasn't lack of money, or anything like that, I lived in this apartment because I chose to; I didn't want to stay anywhere I hadn't earned myself, and most of the places I'd been offered held history for me anyway. No, it was _expectation_ that I was burdened with. Every person on the planet seemed to want something from me, for good or ill, and I'd grown tired of it. I grew tired of everything.

Two weeks ago, I lost my job. No, it wasn't because I was bad at it. Teaching at Hogwarts had been like a dream come true, and it started out well enough. In fact, I'd taught there for nearly four years, since I was nineteen. Hogwarts' youngest professor, hah! Of course, the press had a right field day with that one.

I just couldn't bring myself to care anymore. After Voldemort and the war, the deaths I'd seen...

I was purposeless. Nothing seemed important, not even teaching. I finally cracked. I'd spoken to Minerva, knowing I couldn't continue, and shortly afterwards I was living in the city, top floor of a relatively cheap apartment complex.

So really, I hadn't _lost_ my job. I resigned.

All the same, I was unemployed, uninterested, and utterly bored of life.

A chime sounded from the kitchen, and a bowl of what looked like rice floated over to me from the door. The spell I'd used a moment ago tended to prepare extremely simple food.

_Rice for breakfast_, I thought. Well, it could be worse.

As I ate, I considered my options on how to handle the strange dream. I needed help, that much was obvious. Every morning I woke up feeling closer to some kind of epiphany, an answer that was just out of reach. It was clear that was somehow important, and as appealing as simply taking a _Dreamless-Sleep_ potion sounded, I knew I needed to unravel what I was seeing. I'd go crazy if I didn't.

But who could help me? It was a difficult question. My first thought was of Hermione, but after a moment, I realised she was out. I didn't want to make her worry, which is exactly what she'd do. I'd get results, sure, but it'd be _way_ too much of a hassle.

McGonagall might have some information, and she was also the Headmistress… but Minerva hated Divination, and all things related. She would probably dismiss me out of hand.

That didn't really leave many options for me. Dumbledore's portrait might have some insight, but speaking to him was the last thing I wanted to do. Just thinking about him was painful enough.

The only other person—or, well, _thing_ that I knew of, which had any chance of helping me, was the Sorting Hat. It wouldn't be the first time I'd spoken to the Hat, the damn thing was actually rather talkative once you got it going. It was bursting with knowledge of the arcane, and it had memories from hundreds of years of history.

My fork hit china instead of food, and I Vanished the empty bowl. Magic was good like that—you could always conjure a new bowl.

At least I had a plan now, though it wasn't much of one. I'd have to ask McGonagall to let me talk to the Sorting Hat… hopefully she'd be accommodating.

I shook off my musings and cast a Tempus charm. Ten thirty-seven, New Year's Day.

_Right then Harry, time for a fresh start? _I thought, grabbing my cloak and heading out into the snow.

**¿**

The halls of Castle Hogwarts were the same as ever, warm and friendly, with house colours decorating a large majority of the walls. A sense of nostalgia swept over me. I was _home_.

Except… it wasn't home. Not anymore. I didn't have a home, just a place I lived in, the same way I felt when I was young.

I let out a sigh, shaking off my depressing thoughts. I could worry about that later, for now; I had a Sorting Hat to talk to. McGonagall had agreed to my request, though I hadn't told her any details, and the Hat was tucked under my arm.

The school was practically silent as I walked, my footsteps being the only sound as they echoed loudly on the stone floors. The holidays had come and most students were back home with their families. Soon I found myself in front of the Room of Requirement. A good a place as any, I figured, pacing back and forth in front of the wall. I stopped and a wooden door shimmered into existence.

Inside was simple room, somewhat reminiscent of my old dorm in Gryffindor Tower. A single chair was situated in its centre. I sat down and placed the Sorting Hat on my head.

'_Ah… and this, of course, would be Harry Potter's mind. I had thought you'd resigned, child. Disappointing news indeed, that was. You know, you're about the only one that speaks to me these days,'_ it rasped, the words echoing in my head like an old tape recording.

'_Sorry to disappoint you Hat. You're right, though. I quit. I guess I just couldn't do it anymore.'_ I paused, sighing. _'But that isn't why I'm here. I've been having, well, dreams. For at least a month, now. Weird dreams—like from when Voldemort was alive.'_

_Like from when Sirius died_, I thought to myself.

'_Oh? Mm, indeed you have. Let me take a quick peek—oh my. Yes… yes, very interesting. That certainly isn't normal…'_

'_Uh—'_

'_Oh. Yes, I see… well, now…'_ It trailed off, the tone of its voice deepening subtly. _'I'm sure you've realised this is no normal dream, Harry. Alas, though I've no idea what's causing it, or indeed what it means, I do know this__…_ You'd better prepare yourself. I can feel the same pull you feel when you're in those dreams. I've never felt anything like it. Something_ is coming for you, child, and you'd do well to get ready for it.'_

I was shivering uncontrollably by the end of its impromptu speech, its viewing of my memories bringing them to the forefront of my mind.

I hadn't even noticed the pull.

But now that the Hat mentioned it, and the memory fresh in my mind, I could hardly believe I was able to stay sitting. Something was literally pulling me, it felt like a hook in my chest, and though I couldn't figure out which way I was being tugged, I knew it was no where I'd been before.

I was still shivering, my hands clenched tightly in my robes, when the Hat spoke again.

'_I notice you are still in possession of the Deathly Hallows, no, I don't fault you for it. In fact you should keep them with you at all times. I don't know if the rumours are true, that uniting all three makes one the _Master of Death_, but I do know that any advantage will be a good one.'_ It paused, as If considering something.

'_When you leave the castle, take me along with you. Tell no one, for they would not allow it. Tracking Charms? Child, honestly, who would steal the Sorting Hat? Though just in case, we should leave through the tunnel to Hogsmeade. I am sure we will only be gone for a week at most, you can return me then. Whatever is coming, it's close.'_

'_Uh—not to be rude, but, why exactly? What do you expect to do?' _I was sceptical. I knew it had a huge repository of magical knowledge, but…

Actually, that was a good enough reason for me.

'_Never mind. Will do, Hat. What's the plan after we get out of here?'_

'_In answer to your first question; if something is coming for you, I am but another advantage. And child, mark my words. It will come. What will happen? I can't be sure of that. Perhaps you will be spirited away!'_

It was said in jest, but somehow, the thought of leaving my shitty apartment and mindless life behind didn't sound so bad at all.

A sudden tug in my chest nearly pulled me out of the chair, and my hand shot up reflexively to clutch at my heart.

_Fuck_. That was starting to get annoying.

The Hat was speaking.

'…_for a plan. I think it prudent to gather any items you believe are important. Stuff them all into my opening, I will keep them safe. You should begin fortifying your house, I can help you with some spells for that… I am torn on whether to tell others—'_

'_Torn, are you?'_ I interrupted, laughing. An exasperated sigh echoed back to me.

'___…_Yes yes, very funny, now if you're quite finished_…_' If the Hat could glare, it would've been. _'It might be wise to tell your closest allies, there is a large amount of magic at work here, after all.'_

Its words made sense, but still, thinking on it, I wouldn't be telling a soul. I didn't want to put anyone in danger, not again. Not after I already had, so many times before.

I'd deal with this on my own.

'_No. No, I think I'll keep this to myself. It's just better that way.'_

I cast a Tempus. Two fifty-two. It was time to get out of there.

I'd be fine. After all, I defeated Voldemort, right? What could some stupid _dreams_ do to me?

**¿**

The door to my apartment swung open, and I stepped inside, Sorting Hat perched on my head.

I found the Invisibility Cloak and Resurrection Stone still stuffed in the enchanted locker I'd hidden under the floorboards. I chucked them into the Hat. A silver pipe Dumbledore had given to me while he was alive went in after them, and a handful of Galleons that I found in my robe pockets. My trusty Firebolt was shrunken down and tossed in too.

'_So… what do we do now?' _I asked, once the Hat was back on my head.

'_Defences, that's what. We build up the defences.' _

So we got to work. The Hat would tell me an incantation, and show me a memory of how to cast it. I'd practice it—some coming faster than others—until the Hat deemed me successful, and then I'd cast the spell. It took me four hours all up, and I only managed three protections. At least the Hat was satisfied.

'_Just those three are enough for now, I'd hope. Those are some powerful spells there, deep warding magic, lost near an age ago.'_

I hadn't noticed anything unusual about the spells, other than their difficulty, but I took the Hats word for it.

The sun was long past the horizon, the Lumos charms on the ceiling having activated some time ago, and I sat back on my mattress, staring out of the window at the city lights below me. The _pull_ had all but faded away, and the Hat was quiet upon my head.

'_Thanks Hat. I might even be able to return you as soon as tomorrow, maybe after you show me a few more spells. Looks like whatever's coming—at least isn't coming tonight.' _

Famous last words.

**¿**

I was falling, that much I knew with certainty. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, or an entirely unwelcome one, but in my mind I felt it registering as strange, as being somehow _wrong_. I considered that for a moment, enjoying the wind rush past my face, my eyes still shut tight.

I'd just been on my bed, falling asleep, when… oh.

Oh_ fuck_.

I'd been asleep on that mattress, when out of nowhere, the roof had been torn clean off of my house, plaster and wood raining down. That woke me up _very_ quickly, and I remember jumping up, Hat still on my head, my eyes darting around the room, searching frantically for some possible explanation to the chaos erupting around me.

Then I'd looked up.

Oh sweet Circe—I'd looked up.

And there, staring back at me, had been the woman from my dreams. The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Except… she was huge, enormous—maybe taller than Hogwarts, and somehow, standing over my apartment.

I remember looking up, into her eyes, which seemed like twin gold-silver galaxies. She'd smiled softly, and whispered something, like a secret. I'd travelled through those galaxies, through the billions of stars, down into the clouds, where I could make out snow capped mountains, and—

And suddenly, falling was no longer an appealing activity. I opened my eyes.

There aren't really words to describe how I felt at that moment.

It was vast. That was the first thing that struck me. A _massive_ landscape opened up below, white snow plains stretching for miles in every direction. Blue lakes dotted the plains, and small patches of forest, like emeralds and sapphires on a bed a diamond dust.

I squinted as the wind rushed into my previously wide eyes.

I could see buildings now, towers and towns, and a large city far to the north, grey walls somehow looming even at my distance.

It was like nothing I'd ever seen. I'd been flying before, of course. Flown as high as my old Firebolt would take me, and watched the people of England become smaller than ants…

Now I was higher than I'd ever thought possible, and below me lay a land that was certainly _not_ England. That land was rapidly growing as I hurtled towards it, and I was glad that I'd thought to pack the Firebolt, glad that the Hat had even suggested the whole packing idea in the first place.

I grasped at my head and my heart almost stopped when the familiar fabric of the Sorting Hat was nowhere to be found.

_Fuck_.

_Fuck-fuck-FUCK!_ _You fucking moron, Harry!_

I'd never applied a Sticking charm to it, never even thought of it, and now my lapse in judgement was going to cost me.

My hands found my wand holster and I let out a sigh in relief. Both wands were still there. I quickly released the Elder Wand and tried a Summoning charm on the Hat, but there was no luck to be had. It'd probably be sailing far and away in these winds, never to be found again. I sighed again, but not in relief.

The land underneath was growing ever closer, and I braced myself, intent on timing a Levitation charm to break my fall. It was a poor substitute for my broom, but you do what you can, right?

Suddenly I heard a noise, faint at first, like a distant highway, but it was growing louder and louder every second. My eardrums began to ache, and I desperately shoved my hands against the side of my head.

It was a dark sound. A consuming sound—it was viscous, and filled with hate.

It was fucking _terrifying_.

I felt more than saw what happened next.

There was a rush of wind, stronger than the others around it, and a dark shadow passed over me. The hairs on my arms and neck stood up, and I spun around wildly—flailing, really—as I tried to find the incoming catastrophe.

A huge shape slammed into me, like a bus at full throttle, and I cried out in wordless agony. The clouds above spiralled continuously as I fell through the air like a rock, the edges of my vision darkening.

Yet just as the world disappeared, I thought I glimpsed a pair of gold-silver eyes.

* * *

_Just over 3k words. The next chapter is on its way. Cheers._


	3. Chapter One: Bad Dream of a Journey

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Chapter One

_Bad Dream of a Journey  
_

**¿**

_And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold__…_

**¿**

_I'm walking through a field, blurred as if my glasses are missing. My hands brush against the waist high grass, feeling small shocks of static spread up and over my arms. Colours are melting, warping as I move—_bluepurplegreengold_—and perfume rain falls from the sky, soaking me to the bone. I come to a stop in front of a towering silver tree, its thick boughs leaning out over the river it grows by. Technicolour waters drift past me, more smoke than liquid, and I lazily seat myself under the shining canopy. _

_Across the water I can see a woman. She's bathing in the river, despite the pouring rain, her hair splayed out over the surface like a huge fan. She must notice my gaze, because she turns her head towards me, a gold-silver stare alight with curiosity—_

"Harry..."

**¿**

My eyes flew open.

And immediately, they were greeted by the harsh glare of the morning sun. I squinted in a vain attempt to stop the stars behind my eyes, as sensation slowly began to return to my limbs. I realised I was lying flat on my back, looking up at the azure blue sky above.

_Sweet Circe. Just—what the fuck. What the bloody hell just happened?_

My memory was hazy, but a few events stood out with clarity. Talking to the Hat—seeing the woman from my dream—falling through the clouds—losing the Hat—and getting attacked by... well, _something_. Definitely not how I'd expected to spend my New Year's.

For a long moment I laid on the floor trying to wrap my head around what happened, as sticks and pebbles dug into my back uncomfortably.

Finally I came to a simple conclusion: Stop thinking about it_._

With some effort I managed to stand, and though I felt exhausted, the pain I'd been expecting never came. Small mercies and all that—speaking of which—I checked my wand holster, and amazingly both wands were still securely locked in place, side by side in the gift Ron had given me last Solstice. _Weird_. Hadn't I been _holding_ the Elder Wand before? Well, whatever.

_First things first..._

Looking around, I noticed I was near the base of a steep incline, which rose up into a snowy cliff behind me. Short grass, thick with frost, spread out across the ground, and sparse bushes were clumped together haphazardly behind large weathered stones. The trees fared little better, many of them small and leafless, likely thanks to the lack of footing on the unforgiving slopes.

Not an easy place to live.

It reminded me of the Arctic Circle, or at least the pictures I'd seen of it. It was definitely cold enough; the ice shard winds cut through my robes like a fire through the snow.

_Is that where I am? The arctic somewhere?_

I hoped it was that simple.

Another gust of wind sent my teeth chattering, and I could feel my fingers begin to numb. Luckily I had an easy solution. The Elder Wand appeared in my hand—_swish, twirl_—and the incessant chill became a smooth liquid warmth. You've got to love magic, eh?

In the distance I could see a small city—walled and fortified—with houses and farmland scattering its outskirts. I felt relief flood through me.

A city. Civilisation. _People_. It would probably be my best bet.

One of the outlying houses was divided from the walled part of the city by a wide river. Perfect—it was out of the way. Hopefully no one would be around to see me appear out of thin air.

_Destination, Determination, Deliberation._ I turned on my heel.

For a split second I felt like I was being sucked through a tube, before the world suddenly righted and I came together with a snap. The house I'd been looking at was now at my back, and gathering my wits, I strode out from behind the wall and onto the cobbled road, attempting to look nonchalant. The road itself wound up to a bridge spanning the river, and then further, towards the city, and as I walked I began to study the land around me.

Step one of the Harry Potter survival guide: _Learn Everything_. Steps two and three being _Don't Be An Idiot_ and_ Don't Die,_ respectively.

The houses were all built in a uniform style, wood and stone, with thatched rooves and cheerfully smoking chimneys. Fair haired men and women worked the fields, greeting me occasionally with accents that were hard to place. It felt like I'd travelled back in time. And those accents...

_Scandinavian, but somehow not..._

Then I saw a walking cat. As in, _bipedal_.

Now, I've seen some pretty amazing things. I mean, the magical world isn't one to scoff at—it's literally brimming with fantastic beasts and incredible wonders.

But two legged cats? Sitting together around a fire?

No. Not something I can say I've had the pleasure of seeing before, and after become a Professor I was basically required to have at least passing knowledge on all the important magical species. There was a chance that I'd missed a few—a large chance even—but another seemingly sentient race? Of cats? There's no way I wouldn't have read about them.

Wide eyed, I heard myself squeak out '_cat!' _before my hand flew up to my mouth and not one, but eight, all turned in my direction. The first cat-thing I'd noticed began to speak.

"Welcome to Khajiit's humble camp, traveller," it said, sounding amused. "This one bids you greeting."

I gaped, then nodded, then hurried on—too awed to respond. I'd have to learn more before I made any judgements.

_Walking—_talking_—bloody cats. Wait till Hermione hears about this! Or Luna, hah! _I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

The stone wall around the city grew larger as I neared, details becoming clearer, and what had originally been vague blobs became armour clad soldiers pacing slowly atop the battlements. I passed under an archway and arrived in a small courtyard, two soldiers flanking the wooden gate that barred the way further. They noticed me as I approached.

"Hail stranger. Business in Whiterun?" said the one on the right.

I nodded, taking note of the name.

"Just looking for a place to stay. Maybe do some shopping." And did you know there are _talking cats_ over there?

That, of course, went unasked. They probably _did_ know. The guard eyed me for a moment, likely sizing me up, before clacking his shield against the wall.

"Aye, then you'll be wanting the Bannered-Mare. Its right next to the market, should suit your needs. Don't cause any trouble."

The gate swung open, and I stepped inside, getting my first view of the city proper. The trend from earlier continued, with thatched-roof wooden houses making up a majority of the visible buildings, and short bronze braziers smouldering contently along the wide cobblestone path. A blacksmith sat to my right, the smithy banging away with sharp clangs at an anvil, and crowds of people bustled through the streets, chatting animatedly to each other. Whiterun itself was built almost entirely on an incline, and at the top sat a majestic palace, which dominated the rest of the city.

A sudden shout interrupted my appraisal.

"You thrice damned Battle-Borns! Always flaunting your coin! Mocking us!"

The voice had come from up the street, and turning my head, I could see an old man in dirty clothing blocking another man's way. An argument was brewing.

"Flaunting? Hah! The beggars of Solitude could jingle their hats and you'd think it was flaunting!" The other man was dressed in finery, and waved his hand dismissively as he spoke. "You Grey-Manes, always the same."

That just made the first man angrier.

"You—you bastard! By Shor, at least we have our _honour_," he said, spitting out the words with coated venom. "Ulfric will take the throne soon enough, and then _you'll_ be the one in rags. Just wait!"

"Spouting treason in the middle of town? I knew you were simple but—no. Never mind. I have nothing to say to you." He spun, marching away from the crowd.

Well. That was interesting. I'd barely understood half of what they talked about, but one thing had made itself abundantly clear.

This wasn't the arctic.

In fact, the more I thought about it—piecing together the events that led me here—the more I came to understand. Something incredible had happened, and I was no longer on Earth. Those talking cats cinched it. This was a new world. A new life. Could it be what I'd been waiting for?

I needed answers, every scrap of information I could get. I also needed a plan.

_Leglimency_ was the obvious choice; preferably somewhere I wouldn't look suspicious doing it. Perhaps that inn the guard mentioned earlier? I could strike up conversation with some drunkard, and easily get what I wanted.

Okay, semblance of a plan appearing—now I just had to find the damn place. Maybe the blacksmith would know? Well, only one way to find out. I crossed the small bridge leading into the city, heading over to the pavilion he'd set up.

"Uh—"

Clang.

"Excuse me—"

Clang.

"You wouldn't happen to know where—"

Clang.

"...the Bannered-Mare is, would you?"

Finally he turned away from the anvil, placing his hammer on a nearby bench—and I realised with a start that he was in fact _she._ Tanned bronze and covered in soot, her bright yellow-green eyes stared at me from behind dark lashes. She was built like a lean tank—pretty in a rugged sort of way.

"I do." She wiped a gloved hand across her forehead, before gesturing ahead. "It's just up there, at the end of the path. Keep going forward."

I thanked her, and watched—goggling—as she hefted a massive broadsword from the fire pit and turned back to her work.

_Sweet Circe_. Talk about feeling inadequate.

I had to remind myself of her vocation; as a blacksmith, strength was to be expected. I still had my magic, and that was all I'd ever need.

Leaving the blacksmith behind, I noticed the sun was now directly overhead. The day was gradually slipping by, and it was time to get to work.

I'd Leglimens the whole damn town if I had to.

**¿**

_Skyrim_. A vast expanse of land in the northern reaches of the continent Tamriel, bordered to the east, west, and south by a multitude of other regions. They called this world Nirn, and Tamriel itself was just one of many continents inhabiting its surface.

I rubbed at my temples, feeling a headache building.

The bed at the Bannered-Mare was lumpy but serviceable. I'd spent the night at the inn, listening to what conversation I could, and scanning the thoughts of those who seemed interesting. You could learn a lot in a night.

The first thing on my list had been to find out where Whiterun actually was, and I had managed to acquire—_Confundus_ anyone?—an old merchant's map, complete with all the details one could expect. It was daunting to know just how utterly _alien_ the world was, but it was also the kind of thing you just had to accept. So I did.

I'd learnt that Tamriel was home to an almost absurdly diverse range of life—including the talking cats I'd encountered earlier. There was also a race of talking lizards, four types of human, and a whole mass of different types of elves—yes, actual _elves_. People's thoughts and opinions varied wildly toward each race, something I had intimate experience with. Prejudice existed even here.

Another thing on everyone's mind was the gods. From the bits of information I could gather—the most useful, ironically, coming from the mind of a farmer—there were nine gods, each one representing some aspect of the world. I'd never really believed in religion, but from what I knew this was a pretty standard system. The only problem? People seemed to have _entirely_ different ideas on where they came from, who they actually were, which one was the most important... it was enough to make your head hurt.

Apparently a war over one of the gods had been fought between men and elves, its conclusion amounting to the banning of that gods worship. They called it the White-Gold Concordat, some kind of treaty meant to stop the endless bloodshed and bring peace to the warring races.

Needless to say, no one in Skyrim was particularly happy about the situation. In fact, because of it, another war—civil this time—was now breaking out.

Or wait—was it just because the Empire was useless? That Skyrim needed to rise up like the old days?

Or was it just that Ulfric Stormcloak wanted power? Wanted to be High King?

To me, it seemed like a civil war was exactly what these _Thalmor_ wanted, considering they were the ones that enforced the White-Gold Concordat in the first place. Unfortunately, only a few others thought like I did.

It didn't matter. I'd picked up more information than expected, and I felt ready to face the world. I was confident enough in my new knowledge to explore, and hopefully find more meaningful answers.

Earlier, I'd heard there was a magical college located somewhere north, in a town named Winterhold. _Yes_, thank Morgana, magic existed in this world. Although from what I'd found, the similarities ended at 'It's magic.'

Oh, I'd seen memories of people casting fireballs and conjuring things, and a whole bunch of stuff I could do if I wanted to. But not once did I see a wand. That in itself was a striking difference; it seemed that wandless magic was the standard here, and I desperately wanted to learn more. There was also an even greater allure... a wizard at the college might know something of my circumstances.

_Why am I here?_ Was there even a reason? Another example of my status as fates plaything? No. There _was_ something. The vision I'd seen... gold and silver, the woman with night sky eyes.

Unfortunately none of memories I'd seen were from people who'd actually been to Winterhold, so just Apparating there was out of the question—I would have to find some other way, hopefully without violating more minds. The constant use of _Leglimency_ was starting to make me feel dirty.

Maybe someone up at the palace knew how to get there?

I held onto that thought as I exited the Bannered-Mare, feeling the morning sun wash over my skin.

And then I heard a sound. A sound I'd almost managed to banish from my memory. A sound I'd hoped never to hear again.

"_**Grrrrra**__aaaaooo__**oooooo**__ooooo__**ooohhhhhh...**__"_

My first thought?_ Ohfuckershitdamn_.

It was the same sound I'd heard while... while falling through the clouds. Everyone outside was looking up, including me, straining my neck as if to see further into the sky. A quiet muttering swept through the crowd.

Fear. The air was thick with it.

Suddenly the noise came again, a grinding and shrieking roar, undulating between two frequencies like the sound you hear when metal tears. People started screaming. Then the wall exploded. If people weren't screaming before, they were now.

My head began to turn against my will, like that moment just before a train crash, and my heart thundered louder even than the cacophony around me. There, perched on the tallest guard tower, next to the now ruined wall... was a _dragon_, its charcoal black serrated scales glimmering strangely in the morning light. It wore them like a suit of armour, yet twisted somehow—perverse—as if the dragon had taken a thing meant to protect and forced it against its very nature.

Blood red eyes swivelled towards me, and sweet Circe's tits, it _smiled_.

My attention was immediately dragged away—leaving me little time to dwell on what I'd seen—when the house in front of me suddenly turned into sawdust. I felt time slow as another dragon, this one a deep bronze colour, smashed through the wood and stone and landed in the middle of the courtyard. People were running for their lives, taking cover behind anything and everything. I heard an intake of breath, and then—

"_TOR... __**SHUUL**__!"_

The world became fire.

My wand was in my hand before I even realised what was happening, _Flame-Freezing Charm_ spraying out in a wide arc across the courtyard. The flames turned harmless, cool tickling sensations licking at my skin. But still, I'd been a fraction of a second too late. The faint scent of burnt wood hung quivering on the wind, and I could hear people whimpering, whispering of legends and praying to their gods. Strangely, it occurred to me that I'd just heard a dragon speak.

Said dragon seemed to notice its attempts to cook us weren't succeeding as planned, and it spread its wings high into the air. Then it snapped them down, sending its entire mass forward like a ten ton cannon ball. It crashed through the Bannered-Mare, then one, two, and three houses in a line before spinning on its axis and shooting up into the sky. I'd only just dived out of the way. My brain was still playing catch up.

_...that thing is _way_ too nimble. Stars alight, I almost died._

I forced myself up off the ground and looked around, half expecting the black dragon to come flying down after its partner. But nothing happened, and all I could see were the ruins of the houses, the courtyard blazing peacefully with a dying fire that wouldn't burn. Somewhere the sound of a crying child pierced through the din of general horror, and I snapped out of my temporary stupor. The townspeople needed help.

"_Evanesco!" _I said, clearing the last of the flames. Next came figuring out how to fix the rest.

_Wingardium Leviosa_ moved most of the rubble—and the people trapped under it—to more manageable places. Luckily, almost everyone had vacated their houses when the dragon first roared, subsequently sparing themselves from getting crushed. The soldiers still in one piece seemed to notice what I was doing, and leapt into action, shouting orders to each other and rushing off somewhere. Then the unharmed citizens came out from hiding.

"I have healing salves, let me help!"

"I've an old set of blankets!"

"We have beds! Lots of beds!"

I nodded, and watched them hurry away. Honestly, I needed all the help I could get; healing was not my forte.

It's a finicky thing, healing magic. The basic spells are easy enough to cast, like say, _Episkey_. But once you delve deeper it becomes increasingly more complicated, to the point where you have to study under an apprenticeship if you want to progress. Fucking up a healing spell can have some pretty dire consequences. I never saw the point, especially after taking my position at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's old library was open to me then—courtesy of McGonagall—and I'd immersed myself in the world of Transfiguration and Charms. And speaking of Charms...

A soft groan sounded from somewhere near, and a quick search found me next to a woman collapsed behind the skeleton of a house. She was covered in large cuts, though I could tell they weren't as bad as they seemed. This was one of the ones I _could_ help.

"_Episkey!_" I said, watching the cuts seal before my eyes. Then I realised something. _"Tergeo!"_

The blood and grime spilled away from her, and indeed, my hunch had been correct. The blacksmith lay huddled at my feet. One of her arms was broken, and I didn't have any _Skele-Gro_. The best I could do for her was a splint.

"_Episkey_, _Ferula_," I called in sequence, waving my wand over her arm. The bone set clumsily, but it would have to do. As that happened, a splint appeared, then bandages, wrapping the arm neatly. Finally I brought her over to the others.

The courtyard was a complete shambles, wood splinters and pulverised stone littering the ground, the inn behind me a mere pile of rocks. Fortunately, it was something I could fix. Unfortunately, if anything was going to make me stand out, this was it.

Oh well.

"_Reparo, Reparo, Reparo!_"

Now, the _Repairing Charm_ has its share of limitations, the most well known being the inability to repair a wand. But there are more, of course, like the one facing me right now. Put simply, the larger an object is, the more difficult it is to repair. Complexity doesn't matter, only size. No one really knows why, but attempting to repair things bigger than a car tended to go awry—like, worse than they were when broken. Normally, it took a team of six or more wizards to fix houses and the like, scaling up from there depending on the size.

Considering that information, you'd assume my attempts to repair the town failed horribly. That the Bannered-Mare turned inside out, or the houses ended up underground. After all, it was just little old me.

You'd be forgetting one simple fact, carved intricately and coloured white-grey. I held the _Elder Wand_.

Chunks of stone and wood flew through the air in a whirling storm, melding seamlessly back together like a film in reverse. Fifteen minutes later and I was finished, the town once again looking relatively normal. I noticed the remaining soldiers huddling together and shooting me looks. One of them edged over cautiously, speaking in a low voice.

"That's some incredible magic you have there, friend. You've done Whiterun a real service." He glanced at the wand in my hand. "We're going after that damned dragon, orders from Jarl Balgruuf, and we were told to—"

"Where are the dragons now?" I asked.

"Well. Last I heard the black one was heading east, though we aren't sure where exactly. And scouts say the other one is at our southwest tower, apparently just circling. Can't see that lasting long." He shook his head. "Anyway, the Jarl wants to reward you himself. Says he has something else you might be able to help with, too."

_Yes_. This was what I'd been waiting for. An opportunity. Maybe if I was in his good graces, the Jarl could even get me to Winterhold.

"Sure, sounds good. What exactly would I be doing?"

"The Jarl will fill you in, don't worry. Just get to Dragonsreach up on the hill."

"You mean the palace?"

"Aye, I do."

How could I refuse?

* * *

_Been awhile. No excuses really, though I did scrap 4k words and start again at one point. Otherwise I've just been sitting on this chapter, wondering if it's any good. Got bored of that, and now here we are._

_This is basically my first attempt at writing. And definitely my first attempt at writing in first person. I'm starting to wonder if my plot might be too ambitious for my writing skills—considering what I have planned, hah._

_~3.7k Words unbeta'd. R&R._


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